


Fearless as Stars at Dawn

by roxyryoko



Series: Drabbles in the Dark [27]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Hurt and comfort, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Religious Themes, any route but CF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 06:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26967163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyryoko/pseuds/roxyryoko
Summary: Struggling with his own demons over the last fruitless five years of war, Seteth ventures into the Cathedral to practice a sermon he wrote to rouse the people's hopes and courage. To his surprise, he's not alone. Manuela also has sought solace at the Cathedral.He’s not the only one with regrets.
Relationships: Manuela Casagranda/Seteth
Series: Drabbles in the Dark [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590193
Comments: 19
Kudos: 38
Collections: Those Who Drabble in the Dark





	Fearless as Stars at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> For Felannie server's prompt "confessions."
> 
> Manuela and Seteth are a pair that deserve more love so this time I'm actually writing them shippy!
> 
> Thank you Kaerra for the Beta!

_Have courage_ , Seteth told himself as he entered the Cathedral for the second time since the Knights of Seiros’s return and the first time alone. Broken promises weighed heavier with each step, but Seteth bore them with tenacity. Although he failed to recover Rhea thus far, he could not fail the followers of Seiros any longer. He would be strong for them.

The dust and cobwebs of five years’ abandonment glistened eerily in the morning light, the rays pouring in unfiltered through shattered windows that once held stories in their stained glass and through the large hole ravaged in the ceiling where Rhea fell. A pungent musk pierced his senses, and if not for the squeak and scurry of a rat, there would be no sounds but the faint clicks of his boots. 

For hundreds of years this sacred building had stood and never before had it ever felt so forgotten and broken.

Forgotten like dragons and heroes and truths. Broken like blood that would no longer morph.

Forgotten like Sothis’s children when the Knights abandoned them in fruitless searches. Broken like symbols and hopes.

However, Seteth was determined to see an end to some of these travails. He would not forsake the followers of Seiros any longer. The people needed normalcy and structure. They needed faith. He would provide. 

Even if his own resolve wavered, he would uphold this promise to his last breath.

Seteth halted in front of the rubble that desecrated the once majestic altar. The massive opening in the ceiling showered light most profoundly at this location, casting glowing slithers over crumbled stone and shattered statues. Something about it was ethereal, almost holy, as if it were a beacon from the Goddess, surmounting indelible scars and sins to reach these very grounds.

After a short moment of awe, he fetched a small leather-bound notebook out of his breast pocket and flipped to the pinched page. Last night’s nemesis lay etched on the papyrus in crisp, eloquent script: a sermon to remind the faithful the Goddess sees their suffering and weeps; to instill courage to fight in Her name, and to remind all that with Her grace and blessing, they will overcome all obstacles. 

_“Father, would it not be wise to rest?” Flayn had asked, sleep in her voice. Her shadow danced in the light of his third candle, falling over his work and revealing a slumped, weary frame. “There is ever so much to do before church services can properly be held. I see no reason for haste.”_

_“On the contrary,” he had replied as he crossed out another poorly worded phase, “there is no more time to waste. My past follies have provoked enough suffering. Belated as it may be, I must amend this error. The people have been without hope long enough.”_

_“Father...this ‘error’ as you called it, is not a burden for you alone. If you’d permit, perhaps I can provide—“_

_“Enough, Flayn. Please return to bed. I’m fully capable of fulfilling my duties alone.”_

_Reluctantly, she complied, but not without securing the final word. “Indeed you are, but that does not mean you must.”_

Seteth turned to face the skewed pews, leaving the shamble of the altar behind him. He cleared his throat and practiced the sermon, his only witnesses the rats now residing in the Cathedral. The phrases repeated over and over like a mantra, each attempt laced with more conviction and courage—for if he was not the bearer of such things, how could he expect others to possess them? Every iteration changed in flow and wording as more suitable alternatives jumped to his mind, rousing passion and pride in his own chest with each step closer to perfection. He relentlessly continued as he paced down the aisle, side-stepping around rubble and toppled pews.

“Oh, Seteth, you’ll go hoarse like that, and no one will ever hear you!” someone shouted suddenly, breaking him from his concentration with a start. “Please just stop. You’re giving me a migraine.”

Seteth whirled around and scoured the room, gaze casting over every maimed wall and mutilated statue. As he searched, he could not shake the surreal sensation that swept through his mind and body like a chill wind. How peculiar that a place once so comfortably familiar was now acutely foreign. Fortunately, it did not take long to find the source of the voice.

A disheveled Manuela lay in a heap at the edge of the farthest pew, legs draped across the marble and head buried in her arms. Most of her face was veiled in shadow but the glint of one eye. 

Seteth drew his mouth into a disapproving frown. Had the chapel not suffered enough degradation? He would not have it subjected to the likes of Manuela’s inebriated behavior as well.

He approached with a swift stride, and once he stood before her, he crossed his arms. “Good Goddess, Manuela! Surely you’re not sleeping off your poor decisions in the Cathedral.”

She tilted her head up and the morning light caught every curve and angle of her face, revealing red, puffy eyes and a complexion flushed deeper than her boldest rouge. Mascara stained her cheeks in dark rivers and her lips bore only the faintest smudge of peach. 

“Ha! If only!” she laughed ruefully as she wiped a palm across her wet cheeks, smudging her makeup further. “I’ll have you know that I haven’t had a _sip_ of alcohol! How could I? All the taverns are in ruins.”

Words caught on Seteth’s tongue, just as trapped as the tears still caught on Manuela’s lashes. Was he not here to soothe similar sorrow? Then why did guilt sew his mouth shut?

Inaction. Yet again. The cause of so much prolonged suffering. Long blamed on _distraction_ or _priorities_ , but neither could erase the sin.

A palpable silence fell between them, unsettlingly commonplace in these troubled times plagued by ghosts and inner demons. His grip tightened around his notebook, as if the words inscribed within could empower _him_ to action as he hoped they would for others.

Thankfully, Manuela broke it after several apprehensive heartbeats. She rubbed her temple and groaned, “Though, what I wouldn’t give for a drink right now.”

A sharp yawn followed—one, he noted, she did not attempt to cover in the slightest, not that he was surprised. After a mumbled apology, she settled back down onto the pew, arms pillowed under her chin, the tension in her shoulders visibly eased. To his surprise, she cast a strained smile at him.

Seteth could not shake his discontent at her despondent state, but at last found some words, though nothing to rouse courage and faith. “My apologies. I will leave you to your...prayers then.”

With a curt nod, he began to turn, but Manuela’s voice, soft and somber, anchored him in place. 

“Actually,” she replied, not quite meeting his eye. “I don’t mind if you stay. Some company...well, it would be nice.”

The morning light swelled brighter, radiating through the wounds left in this tattered church. The dawn of change. He could help Manuela. No, he must. For that forlorn voice, those blotted eyes did not suit her, and wrenched his heart to a bafflingly unfathomable degree. 

He’d stay.

Manuela continued with a smirk. “Besides, you’ve got me quite curious. What was that you were practicing?”

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “I would assume that would be obvious. It was a sermon, naturally.”

Manuela barked a laugh into her arms, the welcome sound somehow melodic, but then again, her laughter always did ring with such enchanting notes. 

“Oh, that’s no fun! Here I thought some ‘quiet and proper’ lady had inspired you to poetry.”

The knot in Seteth’s chest eased, and mirth tickled his tone as he replied, “Just as ever, I see you are pleased to tease me. Does it not grow tiring?”

The smile on her lips stretched wider. “Me grow tired of teasing _you_? Oh, surely never! Though, if I’m being serious, I could barely hear you. Something, something, the Goddess. Something, something, your grace. Little things like that, but not enough to have any inkling of your actual point.”

Seteth stiffened and attempted to stay composed despite the multitude of jests he had foolishly encouraged. Goddess, what this woman made him endure...and yet...it struck him that he certainly had built up a remarkable tolerance. Most unusual.

“Though I am lacking practice, I spoke with the same clarity as past orations,” he stated, and then smiled wryly. “Perhaps your time at the opera has harmed your hearing.”

With a shake of her head, Manuela laughed, “Oh, my dear Seteth, my time at the opera is exactly why I know the cause of your little...conundrum.” 

Seteth gawked, earning more giggles from the songstress. “My ' _conundrum_ '?” 

“Yes, and it has nothing to do with poised words or enunciation.”

“Is that so? Then by all means, elaborate. You’ll no doubt find enjoyment revealing my faults, and I much prefer this Manuela than the one I happened upon moments ago.”

He smiled warmly, and Manuela’s mouth slacked open. Her cheeks turned redder than the effects of her tears and the remnants of her rouge. She stared a long moment before her mouth snapped closed and she cleared her throat in a most dramatic fashion. 

In a deft, wide motion akin to a performance, she pointed to the ceiling. Seteth turned his head skyward to where she indicated. Through the cavity in the ceiling, a dusty blue sky glowed awash with the warm hues of the rising sun. A few birds chirped their morning songs while they flitted to and fro from nests built in the fractured beams. The sight of life thriving in these ruins warmed Seteth’s heart just as much as the sun warmed his skin.

“That hole up there, it’s disturbing all the acoustics in here,” Manuela explained drowsily, drawing his gaze back to her. “Those in the front will hear you just fine, but someone in the back will scarcely make out more than gibberish. And on a windy day? Why, it’d be a lost cause for practically everyone in the room.”

Seteth had supervised enough church construction to know her words held truth. How had he failed to consider that? 

He glanced back up at the ruptured ceiling, yet another obstacle he would have to overcome. It would seem the Goddess was determined to test him. Perhaps he deserved such a trial after so much floundering.

“An astute point,” he said, casting his gaze back down at Manuela. “I will have to reassess my options if that is the case. My sermon will fail its duty if the worshippers can scarcely hear it.”

He’d have to reassess his opinion of Manuela as well. But then again, when was he not lately? Over and over, she kept surprising him with her intellect and charm to the point it shamed him that he ever accused her of lacking such traits.

He smiled warmly at her. “Thank you. I would never have come to that conclusion alone.” 

Manuela waved her hand lazily and mumbled, “It’s hardly anything to fuss about, Seteth. Even I have my bouts of sage wisdom _sometimes_ , despite always getting the short end of the stick.”

“Nonsense,” he protested with a shake of his head. “You offer such tidings often enough.”

She forced a laugh, “Careful, Seteth. The Goddess frowns upon lying.”

“Indeed, but She is well aware that my words hold no lies.”

He sat on the pew beside Manuela with a sigh and placed the notebook in his lap. All ready his mind whirled, mulling over possible alternatives to his ‘conundrum’. 

Manuela continued to recline on the pew, brushing her fingers through her messy hair, slowly taming it.

Although hardly in a state to help herself, Manuela had ascertained a folly in his plan. Perhaps Flayn was correct; he should not bear everything alone.

Most curious of all, he found himself yearning for Manuela’s opinion, as well as her company.

“Perhaps you may assist me further with your ‘sage wisdom,’” he said, casting an amused look at her lounged form. 

Manuela’s fingers stopped in her hair and she raised an eyebrow. “With my luck, two insightful offerings aren't likely to come about the same day.”

Seteth chuckled lightly. “Well, we are in the perfect place for such a phenomenon.”

Manuela rolled her eyes, but made no further protest.

Seteth took that as encouragement enough to express his musings. “Given what you pointed out, large congregations are out of the question, but our numbers will remain small until our former students can persuade their families to spare soldiers to our cause. This room may be adequate until our forces grow, will it not? After that...well, we do not have the means nor time to restore the Cathedral to its former glory. Perhaps one of the other buildings could be adapted to fit our needs.”

“Perhaps,” Manuela agreed, half-heartedly. 

“Given your knowledge of theater, do you have a recommendation?”

“Maybe— no— ugh, I don’t know.” She clutched her temple.

Seteth waited for her to offer further conjecture, but she fell silent, staring hazily at the pew in front of her. At last, she shrugged and added, “Sorry, but I’m afraid I won’t be much help. That last idea was the last spark left in this old star. Not even the Goddess can make stars bright forever, you know. They fade. Like lovely voices and good ideas and children’s—“

Her breath hitched, interrupting her words. Ashamed, she hid her face in her arms, which muffled her voice, but could not conceal the pain in each sound. “I’ve been nothing but a fading star since this war started.”

A croak sob escaped through her barrier, and it pierced Seteth’s heart like a dagger. Another cry, another strike to the heart. Yet, this time it carried with it the perplexing realization that this feeling brewing in his chest was more than just mere sympathy. 

It was a feeling he had not felt in ages.

Not since his...

Seteth placed a hand over Manuela’s. She stiffened under his touch. 

Gently, he said, “Manuela, if you would like to share your troubles, know that I am always here to listen.”

“Oh, really?” she said derisively. “I’ll have to remember that next time I’m dumped.”

“I will listen then as well.” 

However, the very thought vexed him greatly. Not because of her indubitable ramblings and whinings of her tragic tale, but because someone would dare to hurt her and subject her to this state once again. 

And because that would mean that someone else would be blessed with her company and her insight, no matter how brief. 

“Though,” he added, “I suspect I will be of more assistance when your grievances are less of a romantic nature.”

She sniffed and rolled her head back to meet his gaze, her eyes glistening with her sorrow. “Well, fortunately for you, this has nothing to do with my man troubles.”

Manuela closed her eyes and heaved slow shuddered breaths. In and out. In and out. Seteth squeezed her hand gently, hoping to reassure her.

At last, she opened her eyes, fresh tears slipping out. “You know,” she began, choking on another broken sob, “yesterday while I was helping to clean this dump up—I know what you’re thinking. Cleaning! How unusual of me—but, anyway... I found something in the rubble...just over by the statue of Saint Macuil.” 

She nodded weakly to the antechamber and her top hand clutched tight around her forearm, long manicured nails digging into her flesh. Her breath caught again and she stared off blankly for a long pause.

“And do you know what it was?” she then asked, tone strained.

Her brows twisted, and Seteth found his heart twisting at the sight.

After a deep, rattled breath, she continued, “It was...a pile of bones...a hand to be precise. The shape wasn’t the least bit preserved, but I couldn’t help but feel that someone had been reaching out for help…”

Manuela glanced up at Seteth, the weight of thousands in her eyes. “And I...I failed them. I failed my students, Seteth. So, so many of them. I thought I had forgiven myself, that the Goddess had forgiven me, but seeing that...seeing that, I— ”

What little restraint she had maintained, broke in an instant. Tears poured out unbridled, accompanied by violent tremors. She sought refuge in her arms yet again, but it did little to hide the agonized cries and hiccups escaping her lips like the squalls of a storm. 

Seteth found himself compelled to steady her, placing a hand on each shoulder. A sharp gasp punctured the air and amber eyes flashed up at him for but an instant. Manuela threw herself into his lap, knocking the book to the floor with a thud and flutter of pages. Her hands shook, clutching the front of his doublet so tight her knuckles turned white.

Seteth’s breath caught as he stared down at her quivering form, his hands paralyzed in the air.

“What kind of Professor had I been?” Manuela continued, voice cracking at every word. “What kind of physician? So many students I taught and nurtured died here. They will never fulfill their dreams or find love. We didn’t even return their bodies to their families! They’re all just...just lost to _history_! How cruel is that? Sure we can tidy up this _mess_ , but we can’t ever reclaim the lives of all the people we lost.”

Hesitantly, Seteth encircled his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. Her muscles tensed a moment and then relaxed as he began to rub soothing circles over her head and down her back. Although her sorrow was not a favorable situation, somehow it felt right to hold her like this, to comfort her like this. Perhaps he should have been more receptive when she came to him with her heartbroken woes in the past. 

Perhaps he could have prevented some of her pain and mishaps if he had. 

In a gentle voice, he said, “There was nothing more you could have done in the past, Manuela. I know you are wise enough to realize that.”

“Even if that’s true, it breaks my heart, Seteth. It breaks my heart! How many of our former students will be forced to kill each other? It’s too cruel a fate. More cruel and tragic than any opera I’ve ever performed in.”

Her tears dampened his shirt, seeping through the fabric and chilling his skin. They only served to fortify his conviction to ease her sorrow.

“I too am not without reservations or regrets, but we must find solace in what we still have. I, for one, am grateful that no harm befell Flayn.”

“Yes, I’m grateful our dear little Flayn is safe too,” Manuela hiccuped, “But...but what could you possibly regret? You’re always so...so _perfect_.” 

“My regrets, in truth, are quite similar to yours,” Seteth confessed. “In our search for Lady Rhea, we abandoned the faithful, leaving them helpless against the Empire’s prosecution. The Knights, as well as myself, broke our oaths to protect them. Now so many are frightened and wanting hope.”

_Like Manuela in his arms._

He squeezed her lightly. “Now we must regain their trust and rouse their spirits to the fires of war, but it is not a task easily achieved. The monastery was a symbol of the strength of the church, and now it is but a woeful parallel to the people’s spirits.”

Manuela choked a weak laugh, “It is a rather depressing sight, isn’t it?”

She sighed and relaxed further under his hold, her cheek sliding down to rest on his heart. He hoped she could not feel the rapid palpitations.

“It’s silly, but in some sense or the other, I used to hear music on these grounds,” she hummed and her fingers slacked on his clothing, sprawling out and moving to his sides. “First, from that mysterious singer who taught me to sing as a child, and then, later, I heard it in the students. In their happy chatter and laughter, even their ridiculous battle cries while they train. But now, well, it’s quiet, eerie even. Everyone speaks in whispers, and I keep hearing the wind howling through all the damned holes in these buildings. It’s like...like the moans of a resentful student’s ghoul.” 

Manuela sniffed and used one hand to dab her sleeve under her eyes, soiling the soft fur with mascara and rouge. She stared at the colorful markings with defeated disdain before attempting an unconvincing smirk.

“If I’m haunted, I do hope he’s rather dashing,” she laughed, but it was clearly forced.

“It would seem our past regrets haunt us both,” Seteth offered and Manuela nodded, the motion causing the damp fabric to tickle against his chest.

“What a sorry lot we are,” she mumbled, returning her arm to encircle him again.

Seteth could not help but think how warm she felt in his arms. Like a hearth, welcome and soothing. Although he sought to comfort her, the knowledge he was not alone in his sins brought him a small relief, but more and more he conceded that Manuela’s proximity itself was the cause for such contentment. 

And he didn’t really mind sharing his troubles with another if it was _her_.

“Wait a second,” she suddenly blurted and wrenched herself away. 

An agonizing feeling of loss coursed through Seteth’s blood as the warmth of her body heat slipped away. Like the loss of the flame that once burned in his chest, a vital part of his being felt ripped away.

She cast him a smug smile. “I know exactly what to do for your sermon. It’s so simple! You should turn it into a song! An uplifting one, not the drab, morose mumbo jumbo you were spewing. And who better than the former star of the Mittelfrank opera to captivate the masses. Why, they will have it stuck in their head for days.”

She winked, a fire in her regard, and Seteth couldn’t help but smile.

“That is a most ingenious suggestion, I must confess,” he mused. “A song will easily spread, carried by merchants and pilgrims, informing the people of Fodlan that the Knights have risen yet again. Genius!”

Manuela held her head high with triumph. Proud and beautiful once again. 

“It seems you are still burning brightly, Manuela. You should not doubt yourself. I believe this star will not fade for quite some time yet.”

A violent blush swept over her cheeks, red peaking through the dark streaks of makeup—the sign of her pain, as well as atonement. 

From where his courage came, he could not ascertain, but Seteth lifted Manuela’s chin with one hand, tilting her face to meet his gaze. She blinked several times, brown eyes hidden behind swelling and thick lashes. After a moment of hesitation, he carefully wiped the muddled tears off her face. 

Like the evidence he washed away, and like the crevices in this Cathedral they would one day fill, they could right their mistakes and bring peace back to Fodlan. He felt it burning like an inferno in his chest. These sins weren’t indelible. They could do all this and more.

Together.

Manuela didn’t breathe as he worked, only staring at him with wide eyes. Yet, he could feel the heat on her cheeks.

When he finished, he said, “I have many regrets, but I can say with certainty that I am grateful you are still in my company. Taxing it sometimes may be, your contributions and your presence are appreciated more than you know. ”

Manuela gaped for several heartbeats and then broke into a hoot of laughter. “Is that your best attempt at flirting, Seteth? You need almost as many pointers with that as your dreary sermon.”

Like the speed of a wyvern, a blush rushed across his cheeks. “One would think that gaining your favor would spare be from teasing, but alas I remain a victim.”

“Where would the fun be if I let you off the hook so easily? Besides, I’m not sure if I completely believe that confession.”

With a coy smile, she added, “Perhaps you can find a way to convince me.”

She pressed her body close again and arched up, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted slightly.

Seteth’s blush deepened and his heart drummed in his chest. Slowly, carefully, calmly, he stammered, “Some tact for beguilement would serve you well, Manuela.”

Her eyes blinked open and her voice turned sultry. “We just shared a moment, don’t deny that you’re not the least bit curious.”

Seteth turned away, but caught her pout as he did. He cleared his throat, asking, “You will write a duet, yes? I insist on doing my part.”

"A duet?” A bright, merry giggle bounced off the walls. The first that felt truly heartfelt all morning. “Why, Seteth, you never told me the Goddess gifted you with song as well."

He returned his gaze to her, but couldn’t quite meet her eye. Bashfulness, well, that was not a feeling he’d felt in many years.

“I am merely sufficient, but I have faith that under your guidance, I will rise to the occasion. I will be taught by the best after all.”

“The best, huh? Why, that’s exactly right!” 

She smiled warmly and took his hand with both of hers. Her touch was delicate and welcomed.

Gazing shyly down at their mingled hands, she whispered, “You know, Seteth, I think that together— well, it’s a bit absurd to say aloud, but I feel that we can be dazzling beacons, shining as bright at the Blue Sea Star, reminding people to hope.”

Seteth chuckled, “I have no doubts, Manuela. No doubts,”

After all, because of her, his hopes no longer wavered.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/roxyryoko)! As always, kudos and comments are appreciated.


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